


to swallow whole every holy thing

by blackkat



Series: Jon Antilles prompts [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Rescue, needle mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25569586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: “What?” Rex's voice shades towards alarm. “Cody, that’s a bad idea—”“You can't go,” Cody says reasonably. “You have to monitor communications and make sure the generals have an extraction ready if they need it. Ghost Company’s down half its men right now, so I have the chance.”“That’s exactly the tone you used when you explained why you were overcome with the urge to punchGeneral Grievousin themetal face,” Rex informs him. “Cody,no.”
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Jon Antilles
Series: Jon Antilles prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1941646
Comments: 47
Kudos: 872





	to swallow whole every holy thing

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: For Cody/Jon, th 501st gets word that the local scummy slaver types have caught a Jedi and are gonna auction them off. They're not gonna let that stand! But they can't swing in blasters ablaze for reasons, so they're gonna have to be more subtle, at least until the other teams get in place and Cody gets his hands on the mystery jedi! Jon, for his part, had been given enough drugs to drop a rancor and isn't really in a position to help his rescuers.

“You're _sure_?” Cody asks, almost desperate for the intel to be wrong. “There’s no chance someone made a mistake?”

Rex looks grim, and he shakes his head with a certainty that makes something in Cody's chest sink. “They grabbed a Jedi somehow,” he says. “One of them was showing off his lightsaber as proof.”

Cody closes his eyes. There's not a heck of a lot of arguing he can do with that. “No sign of the generals or the commander? Any word on when they’ll be back?”

“Secret negotiations,” Rex says, halfway to apologetic. “They’ve got their comms off, and it sounds like this auction is going to be _tonight_.”

Cody doesn’t curse, but—well. If ever a situation called for it, it would be this one. They can't risk starting anything with the locals, and especially not any of the higher-ranking scumbags in the area, for fear of blowing the generals’ negotiations all to hell. But—

It’s a _Jedi_. A Jedi is in danger, is about to be sold as a slave, and there are few enough Jedi as it is.

Not only that, but the clones were made for the Jedi. Cody _can't_ leave this one to suffer.

“Heck,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, and—he almost has Jango's haircut. The scar he can cover. It irks something deep-seated in him to pretend to be another person, but Jango Fett's death isn't widespread knowledge. There are some rumors, but there are always rumors. And as far as getting in and out of more criminal circles undiscovered goes, Jango's probably the best bet.

“ _Vod_?” Rex asks, concerned. “I can get Echo and Fives, maybe Jesse—three ARCs and a regular squad—”

“No,” Cody says definitively. “If more than one person goes in, we’ll tip them off. I’ll go alone.”

“What?” Rex's voice shades towards alarm. “Cody, that’s a bad idea—”

“You can't go,” Cody says reasonably. “You have to monitor communications and make sure the generals have an extraction ready if they need it. Ghost Company’s down half its men right now, so I have the chance.”

“That’s exactly the tone you used when you explained why you were overcome with the urge to punch _General Grievous_ in the _metal face_ ,” Rex informs him. “Cody, _no_.”

“I’ll go down dressed as Jango. Aren’t you the one who loves stupid plans like this?” Cody counters. “Captain ‘I waved a droid head at a monitor’?”

“ _That_ worked. This won't.” Rex folds his arms over his chest.

Cody gives him the most unimpressed look he’s physically capable of. “Oh? And how would you do it? _Without_ tipping off half the planet to the fact that there are clones and Jedi here?”

Rex's scowl says he hadn’t thought of that, which makes Cody absolutely certain he’s been spending too much time with General Skywalker and Commander Tano. “You can't go as _Jango_ , you only ever saw him as a trainer.”

“These people probably never met him at all,” Cody says with a shrug, already pulling up the map and trying to calculate his approach. There's a ransom fund he can dip into to get the credits to make it in the door, and then he can just…try to free the Jedi. Depending on how they’ve got him restrained, it might be enough just to get his bindings off. After that, a Jedi should be more than capable of taking out a few guards. “So it’s not like that will matter.”

“I'm _not_ going to let you do this,” Rex says. “ _Cody, no_.”

“I _hate_ you,” Rex mutters over the other end of the earpiece, and Cody hides a smirk, adjusting one of the vambraces a little. Waxer managed to help him repaint and repurpose a set of old armor Admiral Yularen had on display, and it’s not _perfect_ but it’s a sight better than waltzing into the auction in plastoid armor and trying to pass himself off as the Original.

“Just keep your ears open,” Cody retorts quietly. There’s a guard at the doorway, watching him, and Cody eyes him for a moment, then demands, “Something interesting, friend?”

The guard blinks her three sets of eyes at him, then raises her hands. “Didn’t realize the great Jango Fett was still kicking around,” she says, sounding amused. “Those clones of yours are everywhere. Planning to take over the galaxy?”

“I heard Duchess Kryze’s headache multiplies every time she sees me,” Cody says, and makes it droll, smug. “If I can make her head explode, I figure it’s worth a few extra copies out in the universe.”

The guard laughs, high and clicking, and opens the door for him. “You here for the special merchandise tonight?” she asks.

Cody's breath wants to catch, rage wants to rise, but he tamps it down, doesn’t let it. “Yeah,” he says. “Worth a look?”

She shrugs. “I thought he was kind of unimpressive, myself, but what do I know about Jedi? If you're just going to shoot him, though, my bosses will be a bit peeved with you.”

“Oh yeah?” Cody drawls. “How about you?”

Her grin shows multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth. “One less Jedi is a good thing. No one’s going to be able to hang on to him forever, so if you want to take him out of the picture, I won't stop you.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” Cody says, and tries not to be sick. “If I ask whether there's a back door—”

Another clicking laugh, and the guard jerks a claw up. “Hope your jetpack’s working, Mandalorian. Skylight’s not blaster-proof.”

Cody flips her a credit chip. “Nice to see a friendly face.”

“You do know how to treat a girl.” She grins at him again, stepping back, and Cody passes her into the shadows of the mansion. “Fett. Three lefts, straight, then the door on your right. If you want a sneak peek.”

Cody waves a hand without looking back, but turns left, and hears the low, incredulous sound over his earpiece.

“That _worked_?” Rex demands. “You were _flirting_ with her.”

“I was not.” Cody heard Jango talk to some of their trainers in a similar way, and he definitely wasn’t flirting with _them_. “As long as it got me in, who cares?”

“I care,” Rex mutters. “Because I have to listen to it.” There's a pause, and then he says more seriously, “Her directions lead down to some kind of underground storage bay. Probably accurate, if you feel up to trusting her.”

“Seems like our best bet,” Cody says, and takes the first left where the hallway splits. The next left leads down a long flight of stairs, with a few well-dressed people just coming up, and Cody nods curtly to them but doesn’t pause. They don’t turn to look after him, either, and he lets out a silent breath of relief and keeps moving.

The corridors get narrower as he moves, clearly becoming something meant for staff and not customers, and Cody takes it as a good sign. He passes one Human who eyes him, but the man also seems like he’s in a hurry and doesn’t stop, and Cody slips past him, catches the edge of the door he just emerged from, and waits until his footsteps have faded before he pushes it open and slides through.

It's definitely the auction’s warehouse. There are neatly packed crates in long rows, several animals Cody's absolutely sure are illegal to own in cages along the far wall. No sentients, and for a moment Cody's heart is in his throat as he weighs whether the intelligence was wrong, whether they're keeping the Jedi somewhere else—

And then, beneath the quiet hum of the fans, he hears metal clinking. Just for a moment, but it’s enough to make him turn, searching.

In the corner, behind a humming shield, is a body. A Human, a man, who’s too thin for his size, with scars thick across his skin. He’s curled in on himself, bare back to Cody, and there are heavy, old-fashioned chains looped up his legs from knee to ankle. His hands are bound behind his back, and the cuffs keep pulsing, like they're throwing off a field.

Or electricity, Cody thinks grimly. That’s one way to hang on to a Jedi.

Deliberate, he pulls out his blaster, aims it at the door’s control panel. The sound of the shot is loud in the silence, but the Jedi only barely twitches, and Cody holsters the blaster, then hurries across to check the shield generator. It’s easy enough to disable from the outside, which is already worrying; a Jedi in their right mind should be able to undo it with a few seconds of concentration. But—

But the Jedi isn't moving, and when Cody says, “General?” there's no response.

“Heck,” Cody mutters, and pulls his vibroblade. A quick, hard slash separates the halves of the cuffs, making them go dead, and the Jedi gasps, shudders in what has to be relief. With a grimace, Cody catches his shoulder, meaning to pull him back, and says, “General—”

The second his hand closes around the man jerks. There's a sharp sound of something like fear, and he wrenches to the side, trying to scramble out of Cody's grip. Alarm flares, and Cody catches him around the waist, pulls him back before he can hurt himself. “General,” he says, more insistently. “General, I'm here to rescue you— _sir_ —”

He gets the Jedi over on his back, and the man’s hands instantly come up, blocking his face even as he tries to throw himself away, and Cody's chest _aches_.

“General,” he says again, and catches his wrists. It’s not working, though; the man doesn’t even seem to hear him, and Cody grabs desperately for an alternative and says, “Master!”

The Jedi stills, a ragged sound breaking from his throat. He raises his head, just a little, and pale, pale blue eyes, blown black and dazed, settle on Cody.

Relief is a painfully bright thing, and Cody gentles his grip, slides his hands down to tangle their fingers instead. “Master Jedi,” he says quietly. “My name is Cody. I'm here to rescue you.”

Those pale eyes flutter closed, and the Jedi curls forward, burying his face against Cody's knees. “Not angry,” he mutters. “You're not…”

Heck. An empath in the hands of people who just want to sell him, who probably hate Jedi—that’s already torture enough. Cody grimaces, but reaches out with his free hand to stroke the Jedi's matted black hair. “No,” he says soothingly. “I'm glad to see you, Master. Can you tell me your name?”

“Jon,” the Jedi says hoarsely, and then twitches, groans. The cuff around his right wrist flickers with light—

Cody has one second to realize what’s happening. He grabs his vibroblade again, pins Jon's wrist to the floor, and slams the point of the blade right into the cuff’s hinge.

There's a crack, a whine of mechanics failing. The cuff pops open, and the hypo needle pulls free of Jon's vein. He gasps, and Cody grabs it, flings it away with all the disgust that’s choking him, and goes for the other. It tries to activate a moment later, but Cody hauls it off and throws it into the wall, then pulls Jon's hands into his lap to check his wrists.

The needle marks are all too clear, entirely obvious. They’ve been keeping him drugged, with the cuffs as the delivery method.

“Hey,” Cody says, as gently as he can, and tips Jon's head back with careful fingers. “Master Jedi. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Slowly, with an effort, Jon blinks them open, staring up at him, and Cody breathes out harshly. Whatever awareness was in them a moment ago is going hazy, fading, and he has a feeling their chances of a clean escape are sinking by the moment.

“Bastards,” he mutters, and then switches his comm on. “Rex, have Kix on standby, and get Longshot to bring the shuttle as close as he can without being seen. I'm going to need some help.”

“Kriff,” Rex says. “That bad?” Another comm channel buzzes in the background, and he tells Cody, “They're on their way.”

Cody breathes out. “They have him drugged,” he says grimly. “I got the thing off, but I have no idea how he’s going to react to the drugs leaving his system.”

“I’ll warn Kix,” Rex says grimly. “How soon can you get out?”

The jetpack is Cody's, quickly repainted, and entirely familiar in its abilities. He calculates thrust, weight, and eyes the skylight above them. It won't be a pretty escape, but he can make it. “Five minutes. I blew the door lock, but—”

On the other side, something thumps, and there’s a loud, indignant voice.

“Time to go,” Cody decides, and undoes the leg shackles as quickly as he can. Jon's limp, eyes vaguely tracking Cody, and Cody manages a smile at him before remembering he’s wearing a helmet. “Hey, there we are. Ready to get out of here, Jon?”

“Cody,” Jon says, but it’s slow, clumsy. “Your mind is…bright.”

Definitely no help from that quarter. Still, Cody snorts with amusement, leaning over him and sliding an arm beneath his back. “Yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment. Can you get your arms around my neck?”

Jon can, with a bit of help. He slumps into Cody's hold, but he’s at least managing to cling, and when Cody hooks an arm beneath his thighs and hauls him up, he doesn’t fight it.

“Dark spot,” Jon says, ragged, and fingers brush the side of Cody's head. “There's…one.”

Something in Cody's head _cracks_ , and he yelps. Almost drops Jon, jerking sideways, but—

Nothing changes. There's no pain, no sensation, and Cody blinks at Jon.

“What the heck was _that_?” he demands.

There's no answer from Jon, but beyond the door, machinery starts up with a deep, buzzing hum, and there's no time to ask more questions. Cody mutters an oath, then grabs Jon, hauls him up into his arms a little more securely, and activates his jetpack as he aims his blaster up. The skylight shatters in a rain of transparisteel, and an instant later they're through and rising into the air.

“You okay, Jon?” Cody calls over the rush of wind, but there's no answer beyond a vague mumble. Still, his hand is curled tight around Cody's arm, and he’s at least not in any visible pain. Cody will take it.

“If you say I told you so, I'm going to put dye in your shampoo,” Rex warns.

Cody blinks, dragging his gaze away from Jon's peaceful face. Looks up, and it takes a second for him to resister the words, but as soon as he does, he rolls his eyes.

“I'm not going to say I told you so,” he retorts, tightening his grip a little on Jon's hand. It’s…novel, to have a Jedi clinging to him. Obi-Wan always seems so strong, and even the commander is a force of nature. Seeing a Jedi vulnerable is strange.

Cody maybe doesn’t hate it as much as he should.

There's a moment of silence, and then Rex lets out a breath, leaning against the wall. “Whatever he did to you, it’s got Kix messaging every other medic within comm range,” he says.

“There was a chip in my head,” Cody says quietly, and—he’s trying not to think about it. “He broke it. Kix said that even surgery to get it out would have been risky, and most Jedi wouldn’t ever dig that deep, but—he was drugged. He didn’t even realize.”

And even drugged, even hurt and bruised and suffering from a shattered collarbone and a blaster wound, he’d focused on what was wrong with Cody before he even tried to help himself. A Jedi to the last, and it makes something in Cody's throat feel tight and hot.

“And you're thanking him by holding his hand?” Rex asks, light, even though the look in his eyes is grim and sharp.

“He keeps losing control,” Cody says, and swallows. Shifts his hand, wrapping his fingers a little more securely around Jon's, and manages a crooked smile. “Apparently he doesn’t do it as much when I'm touching him, so I volunteered to help keep Kix's medbay in one piece.”

“Right.” Rex's tone is mild, but it’s clear he doesn’t believe Cody even for a second. “Well, I wanted to tell you that the generals made it out with only half the normal number of explosions. They’ll be back tomorrow. I didn’t tell them about the rescue, though—I figured that was best left for in-person.”

“Probably. Thanks, Rex.” Cody doesn’t look up, even when Rex clasps his shoulder tightly for a long moment. He leans into the touch, hears Rex's harsh, relieved breath, and then the retreat of footsteps across the bay, the hiss of the door.

Alone again, Cody sighs, bringing Jon's hand up to press the back of it to his forehead. Starts to think about the chip, and what it means, and all the implications, and it’s a yawning black hole that’s going to drag him down into too many dark thoughts—

There's a breath, soft, and Jon's fingers touch Cody's hair, curl. “Cody,” he says, rough, and Cody opens his eyes, lifts his head with his heart rising.

“Jon,” he says, relieved, and meets pale blue eyes that are staring up at him. “You remember.”

“Hard to forget,” Jon says, rueful, quiet. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“You're welcome,” Cody says, and it’s hard to get the words out. He wants to reach out, to touch, but instead he just tightens his grip on Jon's hand and says, “I've always wanted to play knight in shining armor.”

Jon's mouth curves, humor flickering across his face. It fades a moment later, though, and he grips Cody's fingers. “I hurt you. I can't—I'm sorry—”

“You saved me,” Cody corrects. Swallows, and says, “Maybe—maybe all of my brothers, too. General Shaak Ti is trying to find out what the chips are for, but—probably nothing good. She said they feel Dark.”

“Mm.” Jon turns his head a little, eyes fluttering closed. Something in the distance rattles, and Cody can _feel_ the brush of his mind, a weight, but soft. “It was…hard to see. But you're so bright…”

“Jon,” Cody says. “Your control—”

Jon's not listening, though, and the datapad on the bedside table slides, tumbles, goes clattering to the floor. Cody breathes out, but—

Well. It’s not as if he objects to the original method he’d resorted to, when the drugs were first wearing off and holding hands wasn’t enough.

Carefully, deliberately, he puts a hand on Jon's shoulder, watches his eyes flutter open again. “I'm going to move you,” he warns, and Jon makes a noise of assent, already reaching for him. With a huff, Cody slides onto the bed beside him, pulling Jon in against his chest and wrapping his arms around him, and—

It’s nice to save someone, for once, instead of being saved. Nice the way Jon makes a low, soft sound and hangs on to him, a strong, dangerous Jedi perfectly pliant in Cody's arms. He saved Cody, he saw something no one else had managed to, but—

He needs Cody, and not as the Marshal Commander. Just as Cody, and that’s something new. Something strange, but. Good.

Cody closes his eyes, presses his cheek to Jon's head, and lets himself not think, for just a little while longer.


End file.
